In the Moment

The sky is gray, the ground is cold, and the wind is a subtle chill. Yet both children are outside, together, playing with a stick, a swing, and laughter.

My heart is full.

We have toys, we have video games, we have games, we have, well, we have too much. So in these simple moments I smile. The screens are blank, but the imaginations are wired.

The sun watches. It doesn’t blink. It shines on the youth. Its rays blanket the fun. Its presence is an oxymoronic date with the chill of the air.

The children don’t notice.

The dogs wag their tails and bark and want to be included.

The glass muffles the sound of the children’s laughter, but it can’t block the joy. The fun permeates the plane of glass and warms my soul.

I’m not even sure if it is a game they are playing; is it a test of skills, wills, or thrills?

But they are enjoying each other’s company.

Minutes before they were distracted by the complexities of life, of siblinghood, of being a kid.

Now? They are engaged with living. With being. With play.

I stand as a witness with the dogs. We watch. We don’t want to intrude. Well the dogs do, but I do not let them.

But we can’t look away.

The tree stands as a divider, a connector, a conduit. A chaperone. A toy.

The stress, fears, and pressures of childhood sit on the other side of the fence. The play keeps them at bay. They aren’t invited now. There will be a time that they interfere, but that moment is not now.

The smiles and laughter shun the grays. The joy is brighter than the sun’s rays.